


The Miles From You To Me

by SilverShortyyy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Reincarnation, Retribution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 16:00:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10880163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverShortyyy/pseuds/SilverShortyyy
Summary: In another life, Voldemort's soul is reborn into a boy who has vague recollections of who he used to be. Never really knowing why, the boy finds his eyes captivated by a wild black mane and crazed black eyes. Voldemort, having never known love, does not understand anything except the knowledge at feeling empty, empty if only that girl would spare a glance at him.Not having any recollection of who she used to be, Bellatrix's soul never finds her way back to her master.





	The Miles From You To Me

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Oh, Calamity by All Time Low. I don't own Oh, Calamity, Harry Potter, or Bellatrix Black Lestrange and Tom Marvolo Riddle. Hope y'all enjoy!

Voldemort opens his eyes into the midnight darkness. In this life, he's known under a different name and lives by a different face. Unlike once before, his soul is intact and his eyes are not serpentine nor red. He may have sharp cheekbones and a handsome jawline, intense eyes and sleek black hair, but he is not Lord Voldemort nor Tom Marvolo Riddle.

In this life, his name is Neroy Reine, and despite his good looks, he is simply one in the crowd. His gray eyes tune him out, turning him into a shadow amidst the crowd of Hogwarts students that clog the halls.

In this midnight darkness, he stares at the ceiling of the boys' dormitories and thanks the Fates or gods for putting his soul in a Slytherin boys' body. Had he not torn his soul apart, Voldemort intelligently guesses he would be rather unconscious and not at all able to recollect anything from his past life. As it is, this might be that which they call retribution, or how Voldemort is going pay for the sins of his past life.

Neroy has flashes of Voldemort's life, but it had always just been an odd abundance of nightmares or dream episodes of psychosis. It was never anything serious, and as the Fates made it, nor will it ever be.

In the darkness, Voldemort and Neroy stare up into the ceiling, both unable to resume sleep as Voldemort's soul is Neroy's, and Neroy's body refuses to go back to a state of slumber for some odd reason. Retribution, this might be called, and such as it is, Voldemort didn't find too much about this as actual suffering.

He had been through worse, those years after the blasted Potter boy took his body away from him.

But, as it is, retribution comes in its forms. For a life, Voldemort will suffer, and though his greatest fear had been his death, he feared other things, and such presents himself to him in the form of the deep chasm both he and Neroy feels in the cavity of their shared chest. Voldemort, the intelligent and knowledgeable person he is, knows that where he feels the gnawing chasm is where Neroy's heart should be. Voldemort feels what Neroy feels, the way Neroy's heartbeat is heavy all throughout his body, heavy and dragging and _painful_ in no way Voldemort has ever known.

Neroy is in his fifth year. And for five years, they had woken up every night at more or less the same time, the same feeling echoing deep in Neroy's bones.

Every night through five years, ever since the first day Neroy first saw Stella Noir.

Stella Noir is currently a seventh year at Hogwarts, a Ravenclaw with wild black hair and crazed black eyes. She is two years older than Neroy, and yet the first time he saw her, she became a recurring presence in his mind.

At the sight of her, Voldemort felt a strong pulse reverberate in the depths of his soul, and as if awokened from a deep sleep, he became completely aware of this new life. A new chance perhaps? Unfortunately, he did not believed in mythology and superstition nor was he ever more optimistic than realistic, so he knows his reincarnation is not a new chance at life but retribution, the price for his sins from his past life.

Some nights, Voldemort confesses to himself that he would rather have never woken up.

Stella's wild black hair puts a name at the tip of his tongue, and he struggles to recall the name that he can't seem to forget but can never remember. Every time Neroy sees her, Voldemort feels his soul getting torn apart, worse than when he had made horcruxes, much more as if he was killing himself over and over again.

He wants to say her name, the name he had known once before, the name that once upon a time rolled off his tongue so carelessly, the name that once whispered itself to him in the dead of night. He wants to say her name if only he can remember, but the feel of her, the magic in her soul, the power he can feel radiating off of her is one he's come to know just like his own.

Neroy is a Slytherin, and though the House rivalries have mellowed down more these days, Stella sidled more with the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, especially those in her own year, save for her two younger sisters in the same House. So Stella never minded Neroy, not the fifth year Slytherin who had averagely satisfactory grades and is not a part of the Quidditch Team. No, she would never mind Neroy, especially when they had no connection that would lead them to each other.

 _"Hi,"_ Neroy would always fantasize, and Voldemort knows it would never happen—this is his retribution, and so Neroy would never be given the chance with this woman— _"my name's Neroy Reine. D'you wanna grab lunch with me by the beech tree?"_

Stella's crazed black eyes are crazed with desire, desire for the tiniest crumb of information, crazed with hunger for knowledge, the kind of hunger only a Ravenclaw would have. She had eagerness and passion that sinks even deeper than her bones, the type that would settle in the depths of her soul and Voldemort just _knows_ where in her soul he could find it.

But not once had those black eyes met Neroy's gray ones, and though it makes Voldemort's soul ache deep inside not to have even the smallest grain of attention from the girl, he knows it would do him—do Neroy—much better to never receive it. Voldemort knows if those passion-filled dark eyes would meet Neroy's gray ones, Voldemort would feel the most unbearable aches that feels like a Cruciatus curse that actually hurts him, and Voldemort would be damned if he would submit to any kind of pain.

In the darkness of the dead of the night, Voldemort stares up into the Slytherin boys' dormitories with Neroy's eyes in Neroy's body, feeling the boy's heartbeat so heavily that it echoes into the depths of Voldemort's aching soul. And still, as the waves of slumber begin to wash over Neroy once again, Voldemort cannot say the name at the tip of his tongue, but remembers crazed black eyes and a wild mane of unruly black hair from once upon a time, wishing he could say her name just one last time thinking the soul-deep ache would go away if he did.

And in a way, deep inside, he knows it would.

* * *

In the nights when Stella didn't remember her dreams the mornings after, she dreamt of going on reckless adventures that tire even her physical body after she slept. She would only remember powerful surges of magic in her veins, her blood rushing so loud in her ears that her heartbeat becomes some kind of bass drum to the music that the world plays.

In those nights, though Stella would never remember, she would become a woman of great beauty, with unruly black hair and crazed black eyes, her tie not blue and bronze but green and silver. Those nights, she would sometimes wear corsets and lots of leather, if not Hogwarts robes of a different House and a slightly different size from a slightly different time.

Those nights, she would own a wand that was never hers, but had chosen her soul in another life, had treated her as a master in another life, just as she had served a Master in another life, a life she would never remember.

Despite her sins once upon a time, her soul's only retribution would be reliving things that had once been, without inflicting anything on Stella herself. So the following morning, Stella would remember nothing, just feeling tired after another wild adventure of a hazy dream, and getting out of bed for another day at Hogwarts.

But other nights when Stella didn't remember her dreams, she dreamed of being a lost soul roaming the halls of the castle, and finding her way down into a dark dungeon, into a common room with green banners. She would never be able to remember how she knows how to get there, let alone get _in_ there, nor would she ever be able to remember why she didn't quite feel like she belonged.

Though, as it is, her soul knew more than she, and her soul trudged on, past doors revealing more four poster beds with green and silver adorning cloth. On one bed, she seems to see through the curtains, where there lay what could either be a bald, noseless man with red eyes, or a fifteen year old boy with sleek black hair and gray eyes.

Though Stella never felt compelled to the boy, her soul would always feel somewhat drawn to the man, some eagerness and passion and crazed devotion nearly pulling her onto her knees. Stella doesn't know his name, or why her soul feels compelled to him, why her soul seems to feel some inhuman level of love for him, but it does, and she doesn't question it, for somehow, she understands.

She would find herself leaning down, and the boy would somehow fade in place of the man, but she never gets a chance to touch him, never stays asleep enough for her skin to brush his cheek.

When she wakes up, an hour to dawn, she would remember nothing of what she dreamt of. She would only remember having dreamt, but nothing more, not even of the soul-deep devotion that awakens in her at the sight of the man she might've loved long, long ago, in another time, in another life.

* * *

Morning comes, and Neroy attends classes. Once again, all he has is an opportunity to look at Stella Noir from across the hall. She never turns to look at him, not even one chance glance. He never gets a chance to be near her, as if the crowd is persistent to stand between them.

He's good-looking enough, and she's too far out of reach, so he settles to look at her from here, never getting too close lest he lose his composure. Besides, there are a lot of other girls for him to choose from, for him to fall in love with. It did him nothing to get wasted on a girl two years his senior who would never notice him, even from a random chance.

So he proceeds to his classes, that familiar ache in his heart. He tries not to listen to his heartbeat as he has tried for five years, reminding himself that next September she would be gone, and he could find someone else, and he could fall in love again.

He didn't need to be grappling onto some person he might've known in another life. He didn't need to be hoping for some dreams to come true. He didn't need to be chasing after someone who would never be his.

So he does as he always did, and buries wild black hair and crazed black eyes into the deepest recesses of his mind, and focuses on today and on right now, rather than whatever time or life it was when she had been his and when he could have been—might have been—hers, because that isn't happening now, and Neroy knows it never will.

* * *

_The way her lips presses against his makes him melt, but he doesn't admit that, though he knows she understands. He lets her claw-like nails dig into his skin, drawing down deep lines along his arm in that intoxicating way she touches him.  
_

_He would never say it. But he is hers, **hers** , all hers._

_And in another life, he would let her claim him._

_Her hands would slide up and down his arms, sending shivers down his spine, and his breath catches in his throat just with her presence in his arms. Her magic sends his mind reeling, her look sends his heart racing; all she ha to do is whisper his name in her mind and he would feel her and he would feel himself melt, melt onto her hands and give in to her touch._

_For her, Voldemort would give his entire self, and he would never admit it to himself nor to anyone, least of all to her, but he knows she knows, in the way a soul would know a soul that even Legilimency cannot reveal anything of that soul-deep understanding._

_Voldemort deepens the kiss, and he lets her explore his mouth and dominate his tongue, shuddering at the perfect way her hands slide up his sides. It feels as if she is made for him, and him for her, and no matter what happens it feels as if they would always find their way to each other._

_He would lose his mind at the mere thought of her, and he would be damned if he said he didn't love her. Perks of being a Dark Lord would be that no one dared ask. And though he would deny it to himself most times, deep down he knows he can never say no, not directly, not completely._

_**Bellatrix**. That's her name, and every time he says it, it feels like it's been an eternity since he had last spoken it. **Bellatrix**. He would whisper, for he would never get tired of saying her name. **Bellatrix**. He says it as if fearful he would forget, fearful he would forget the name of the only one he has ever loved, fearful he would forget her, and her touch and her eyes and her hair and her lips, and her mouth and her body and her mind and her heart, fearful he would cease to remember the perplexity and mystery of her beautiful soul, the soul he would give his own to never forget._

_**Bellatrix**. He says it like a mantra, like a prayer, and it rolls off his tongue like a diamond between his teeth._

_He holds her close, and her soul understands. He doesn't want to let go, he doesn't want to lose her, and with her arms she grips back, as if to reply to him._

**_'I'm never letting go.'_ **

* * *

The day Voldemort's soul remembers the name at the tip of his tongue is the only day Stella's eyes ever meet Neroy's. That day, as Stella tripped and rolled on the field, her crazed black eyes met Neroy's, years and years of nothing finally coming down to one last gaze.

Stella's feet had stepped the wrong way, and her ankle gave in just enough for her body to twist and try to save itself. But the way her arm tried to save her body made her shoulder push up in a way it wasn't meant to, and the insanity and craziness in those stormy black eyes ceased to be in the blink of an eye, and though meters and meters away, Neroy's eyes never left hers, and for a moment, Voldemort remembers the woman he used to love.

_Loves. The woman he does and will always love._

"Bellatrix." It slips off Neroy's lips so softly that even Neroy doesn't know it. He doesn't remember much after that, neither does he remember uttering a word, but he knows Stella's husband and children ran after her too late, and he had run away, feeling the familiar though strong ache in his heart, the ache that he thought he had already forgotten until just now, until stormy black eyes finally met his.

Voldemort would never forget her name from then on. And he would stop lying to himself, stop deceiving himself, knowing now that once and for all, he had lost her and condemned himself to an eternity without her, and he would be replaying her memory in what would be his soul's mind for too many times that he loses count.

Neroy had ceased to be a fifteen year old boy when he saw the incident. He had become a thirty-three year old man, happily engaged to a witch who loves him as much as he loves her, and Stella had been a thirty-five year old woman, happily married with children she loved with all her heart. They had never once met, but in her final moment, it had been him her eyes found, and if Fate could be so cruel, he had been lucky enough to find her in the last second of her life.

Time comes when Neroy finds his end as well, his age well beyond youth and very deep into the years of wrinkles and sagging laugh lines.

So then the gravestone would read:

"Hear lies Neroy Zans Reine. May he rest in peace."

When the body takes its last breath, the soul is set free, but Voldemort remembers nothing more than _Bellatrix_ , knowing his eternity would be reincarnations and retribution and _Bellatrix_ , a life without Bellatrix, an eternity loving her without feeling her at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Neroy Zans Reine  
> — ne roi sans reine  
> — French, meaning "no king without queen". Pardon the grammar, because I just used Google Translate for that. The way J.K. Rowling made Voldemort's name inspired me and I thought, why not? And so Neroy Zans Reine.
> 
> Stella Noir  
> — Stella means star, and Bellatrix is the name of a star. Noir is French for Black.
> 
> Song Inspiration: Oh, Calamity by All Time Low


End file.
